


Persuasive

by en passant (corinthian)



Series: nothing in particular [3]
Category: Yu-Gi-Oh! 5D's
Genre: Gen, References to Child Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-22
Updated: 2015-06-22
Packaged: 2018-04-05 13:09:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4180989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/corinthian/pseuds/en%20passant
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Martha has a way with kids, which is good 'cuz so many of them she meets need a hand up.</p><p>--</p><p>mostly backstory, transitions, that sort of thing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Persuasive

Martha had always had a soft spot for kids. Even when she was younger, in high school, college, nursing school, she was always the ‘mom’ of the group. For the first few years at the hospital, everyone was surprised she didn’t have any kids of her own. She used to tell them, everything happens for a reason.

That was a tough belief to hold onto, when the hospital burned to the ground and everyone inside died. She had been off at the time, but it was an event that had rocked her to her core. But Martha had never been one for sitting inactive — she threw herself back into her work and started fostering kids. She loved them all, of course, but was happy when they moved on to a permanent home, too.

And then there was Jack.

“This one’s a handful,” the case worker said when she dropped Jack off at Martha’s with a single plastic grocery bag — that had all his belongings in it. “Here’s his file.”

“I’m sure we’ll get along just fine.” Martha took the file and bag, the bag she immediately offered to Jack and the file she tucked into a drawer. She never read it. He snatched his bag of stuff and held it to his chest and didn’t put it down for the rest of the day.

He wasn’t really a handful, at least, not any more than any other kid.

They had their arguments, of course. The first few had been about the rules of the house — bed time, food, hoarding, and outbursts. Then they had all been about school. Jack didn’t want to go, Jack didn’t like the other kids, Jack hated it. Martha didn’t think of herself as extraordinarily patient, nor particularly forgiving. She was just a normal person who knew her kids were all good kids, they just hadn’t been given a chance. A little compassion, listening to them and guidance went a long way.

And, mostly, she didn’t take their shit. If Jack threw his plate to the floor and broke it because he was mad at something she did then he could explain himself and clean it up. _Use your words and tell me what’s wrong_ was something of a mantra in their household. She knew, too, that as much as Jack flustered and said that he hated it — telling her how he messed up or how other people made him feel unwanted or small, he was just as reassured that she was there for him. And, more than that, when Martha made a promise — I promise you, we make the big decisions together — she would keep it.

A month, became six, became a year and then two. He was thirteen, then, and they both knew that the likelihood of him being bounced from house to house until he turned eighteen increased with every month. She, too, had grown used to his presence in the house and had shifted to thinking of him as the foster kid she was looking after to her son. But, she’d made a promise and Martha noticed that Jack always kept a go-bag — anything valuable tucked away in his backpack, in case he had to leave suddenly.

It was, somewhat, serendipitous that the day Martha thought to breach the subject with Jack she’d been called by the school to pick him up. He was going to get suspended for fighting — two strikes against him from earlier in the year for fighting and this was the last one. She hadn’t been at work yet, so she could drive straight to the school where they then had to wait in the hallway for the principal to become free. Which, Martha thought, was not terribly considerate.

“Are you going to tell me what happened or not?” She asked him.

He glowered, hunched his shoulders and lifted his chin defiantly. Martha wasn’t phased. She stared right back at him — and they both knew that he would be the one to losing the staring contest.

“He deserved it.”

“Jack.”

“What? He did! He might have parents and money, but I’ve got you.” Jack almost yelled it. Then he looked away, cheeks red. “I’ve got you, don’t I.”

“You’ve got me as long as you want me,” was her only reply.

That was that. The following weekend they started the long process of filing paperwork, paying fees and the parade of social workers and court dates to solidify adoption. It took a long time. Martha had never been married and didn’t make as much money as they would like her to, but every home visit had stellar reviews.

The day it became official was January 11th.

* * *

The first time Martha met ‘the kids’ they were really young and there had only been two of them at the time. Hiro and his sister Lucia. Their mother had brought them in, said that Lucia had fallen down and broken her arm. Two weeks later, they came in again, Hiro had gotten into some drain cleaner under the sink. Two visits to the ER in a single week was suspicious — a soft alert was sent through the proper channels but there wasn’t much else that could be done.

Martha didn’t see them for another year. The next time they’re int he ER it’s because Lucia’s caught a cold and the young teen — he can’t be older than thirteen, Martha guesses, but he tells her that he’s sixteen — isn’t sure what to do.

“She’s had a fever for a few days now,” his name is Crow and he says he’s the babysitter, which Martha isn’t quite sure she believes, but she’d rather not have the kids disappear on her again. “We were just buying what was at the drugstore, but at the library one of the books said if the fever lasts for a while we should see a doctor… her mom’s — out of town.” He adds on, as if guessing what she’s thinking.

“That’s all right, it’s slow right now anyway,” Martha says soothingly. She watches how easily Crow corrals Hiro, soothes Lucia and doesn’t miss the way he keeps furtively looking towards the door. “You need to keep her hydrated, and I’ll tell you which things at the drugstore to pick up, all right? The you can go home, but I need you to promise to come back in three days. Can you do that?”

“I’ve got it under control,” Crow says and then holds his hand out and she realizes he wants her to shake on it. Martha takes hand and shakes it firmly. “It’s a promise.”

True to his word, three days later, he and the kids come back. Lucia’s much better and Martha can send them off again with a clean bill of health.

She sees them, over the years. Eventually, there’s three kids. But it’s when Hiro and Lucia get older that Martha starts to get more concerned. She still hasn’t seen their mother again, it’s always Crow who brings them by — for things like kids stepping on rusty nails, to off the books check-ups. The kids seem to be growing fine, but when questioned about their eating habits no one gives her a straight answer.

Cornering Crow is harder than it looks, but finally, one summer day she gets him in an exam room and shuts the door behind her. He doesn’t look worried, but she catches the way his eyes bounce around the room, looking for a second door.

“I have to ask, where’s their mother?”

“She’s around, she just doesn’t have the time,” he replies. It doesn’t sound so bad, but Martha isn’t fooled.

“There’s services you can go t— “

“Fat chance.” Crow interrupts her. “Look, I get that you’re trying to help, but you don’t really know them and if you knew anything about their services you’d know that they’ll split them up. There’s no place for siblings in the system like that. I’m only telling you straight up ‘cos you’ve been good to us over the years. They like you and they think they can trust you.”

“They haven’t said anything incriminated,” Martha smiles. “It’s not perfect, but I need to make sure that you’re all being taken care of.”

“We do just fine.”

“Did you know that the church has an open kitchen, every morning from 7:00 to 8:30 and then again in the evening from 6:00 to 7:00 at the site of the old hospital? You get one meal per person, one plate.” Martha tries a different angle.

“Haven’t been, that’s across town.” But she had Crow’s attention now.

“I work the evening shift, I could pick you up.” She leaves the offer on the table. She can see him working it through, trying to gauge if it was a trap.

“Look,” and she thought she’d lost them, when he pounds his chest, over his heart, with a fist, “I’m the best they’ve got. And — and they’re the best I’m gonna get. Yeah?”

He was saying, don’t fuck this up for us.

“Whenever you can make it, let me know.”

For two months, Martha picked Crow and the kids up three days a week and drove them to the open kitchen for dinner. It was a little out of the way for her, and it meant leaving an extra 20 minutes early, something that Jack didn’t miss — but also something he didn’t complain about, not after she explained it. She did wonder if he was a little jealous, he hated losing anything, especially shared time.

Then, one evening, Crow told her that they wouldn’t need a ride home.

“Yuusei’ll take us.” He waves over another kid — Crow’s age, probably — who was wheeling a bike with a wagon hitched to the back. Martha couldn’t help but stare a bit, immediately biting back questions about whether or not it was really hitched securely or not.

“Hi.” Yuusei’s voice was quiet and he ducks his head when he talks, preempting rejection. There’s also no mistaking who’s son he is, a pretty clear image of his father, the late Dr. Fudou, cardiac surgeon at the hospital, before it had burnt to the ground.

“And did you bring helmets for everyone?” She demands. Yuusei shakes his head no. “Do _you_ even have a helmet, young man?” She continues. He shakes his head again.

“Then I’ll drive them home — “ and then, to cut off protests, “When everyone has a helmet, then you can take the bike.”

“Okay — um — ma’am?” Yuusei fumbles for what to exactly say. Crow and the kids start laughing and Yuusei ducks his head even lower. Martha has to resist the urge to ruffle his hair, she knows from experience that most kids don’t like to be randomly touched and most — almost all she meets at the open kitchen — don’t react well to it.

“Just Martha is fine. Come along kids, we have a schedule to follow.”

It works out, in the end. Yuusei even scavenges another bike and another wagon. Martha buys reflective tape and mirrors for them, because she catches them pedaling past the hospital on her break one night when it’s far too dark for kids their age to be out to begin with, but if they’re going to be out, they need to do their best to _not_ get hit by cars.

And, it turns out, that Yuusei is only sixteen — something he tells Martha without pause when she asks. Crow punches him in the shoulder, in response, saying, “Shit, Yuusei! You’ve ruined it!”

* * *

Jack always thought he was being subtle, when he wasn’t at all. Martha never _faulted_ him for his nature — to sort of barrel along and solve things in a direct manner — but he had also developed an easily wounded pride. The two attitudes didn’t go well together, especially when he tried to plan surprises.

Mother’s Day was always an event. The year Jack turned seventeen he takes her out for brunch — he got his license and even though it was her car, he was going to drive it anyway. The restaurant isn’t the fanciest in town, but it’s one they’ve never gone to since it’s always just a bit out of budget.

She can tell that he’s a little embarrassed by the way he frowns at the line of people at the door and she thinks he might even say they should just go home and do what they always do, but instead he squares himself and marches right up to the hostess. They exchange a few words, most of which Martha pretends to not hear, but she catches his barely hushed hiss about how he’d already arranged things, a favor, and some other nonsense. And she knows, without asking and without hearing the whole story, that he must have again arranged with some kind of favor, instead of money. The year before she had caught him mowing a neighbor’s lawn all summer in exchange for the set of new oven mitts and tablecloth he had given her for Mother’s Day.

It’s always touching and always makes her want to smack him upside the head a little. It’s a gift to see him doing well and being happy.

“Get anything you want, it’s my treat.” Jack says, when they sit. It’s the same as Happy Mother’s Day, but even though he’s gone through all this trouble, she knows that it will embarrass him to say it straight out.

“Thank you, I love you too,” she says in return and can’t help but laugh at the way he draws himself up, flusters and tries to recover his dignity a little. “You always take such good care of me.”

“This is nothing.”

He’s always trying so hard.

She gets the Mediterranean breakfast — poached eggs and spinach and olives and feta, served with toast. She also gets a coffee. Jack gets the hash — seasonal vegetables cooked into fluffy eggs, and a glass of orange juice. He hasn’t quite grown into the bitter taste of coffee, though she knows when he visits her at work he always gets a cup of the hospital coffee. He refuses to drink it with cream and sugar, trying to force himself to enjoy it just black.

“So, how’s school?” She interrogates.

“Same as always, well enough. It won’t interfere with my eligibility.” Football had given Jack a place to be — it had opened doors for him, being a bit of an outsider. When he had first shown talent the other kids forgot any previous grievances and were glad to use his talent to their advantage.

“Met any cute girls?” Martha continues and then adds, “Or cute boys?”

“It would just be a distraction, I don’t have time to date.” He replies, a little sourly. She’s tried to get him to at least even go out on casual dates with other people, surely he could choose a number of people to go to the school dances with, for example. Instead he always says the same thing and she worries that he takes his other obligations — namely the ones he does for her, grocery shopping, cleaning the house, that kind of thing — too seriously.

“Now, it’s time for me to make my Mother’s Day request,” it’s semi-tradition. She started it when he was still young and prone to sliding between outbursts and stoicism that was a cover for his fear of rejection, it had been an easy way to help guide him along. Her requests couldn’t be anything he hated and couldn’t be anything he would _never_ do. “Meet someone, have fun, maybe show them a bit of your world.”

“Only if they’re worthy.”

That makes her chuckle, “Of course. Only if they’re worthy of my son, the king.”

* * *

She had told herself that she wouldn’t cry when they moved Jack in to his dorm rooms, first of all, she hadn’t cried in a long time and second of all, she was trying to not embarrass him for at least two weeks. While Martha was a mom and of course wouldn’t always bend to his more prideful tendencies — some of them, really, were endearing — she wasn’t completely without tact. Jack could be blunt and callous at times, but he was such a good kid and, really, under it all, very sensitive.

“Well, this is your new place.” She hasn’t gotten out of the car yet. Neither has he. They both sit in the car and look at the white and brick building in front of them. A sign near the door proclaims it MUELLER HALL, the place Jack would live for the next year.

“Yeah,” and the face he had on was so strained. 

“Don’t be anxious,” she reassures him, “I’m sure they’re all happy to meet you.”

“I’m not anxious!” Jack snaps, immediately, and then sinks down in the seat a little. “…it’s like starting over again.”

“Not at all,” she reaches across the car and lightly slaps his shoulder. “You’ve worked hard for this, and even got a full-ride. Moving forward isn’t starting over at all.”

He doesn’t look convinced and seems to slouch even lower in the seat. She knows he doesn’t like change, but more than that he doesn’t like giving other people an opportunity to see him at less than his best. Being a freshman is prime grounds for that, and he doesn’t even have the same social circle he did, no one to chant his name when he steps out on the field — unknown and alone.

“You can always call home and visit on the weekends if you want.” Then, she laughs, because she knows he wants to protest but he also doesn’t want to sound ungrateful, “And! When parent weekend comes, I’m going to drive up here with a big banner that has your name on it. Do you think they’ll let me hang it from the stadium gate?”

“Martha! You wouldn’t dare!” He sits upright, embarrassment escalating into shouting.

“I _would_ , and you can’t stop me.” She grins and then opens her car door and gets out. “But time’s wasting! Let’s get you moved in.”

He doesn’t protest that. It’s short work to get his boxes up into the dorm room — he only has the one suitcase, a few boxes and of course, his trusty go-bag. Jack still keeps his go-bag packed, but it’s not a runaway kit anymore. He showed her once, without explaining anything, but it was some kind of reassurance for them both. This time it’s packed with small mementos from home, all stuffed into one bag that he can grab just in case.

Martha’s fitting the sheets on his bed, which he’s protested she doesn’t need to do, when his roommate arrives. He’s alone, carrying two large boxes and dragging a wheeled suitcase behind him.

“Hey, you must be Jack! I’m Kazama, could you give me a hand with my stuff? Sorry, my parents did the big hurrah last year and then I went and got myself injured — redshirt. Redshirt freshman.” He’s friendliness was disarming and Jack just nodded in agreement. Kazama’s stuff dwarfed Jack’s and ranged from suitcases to electronics and even a large TV, to which Kazama was glad Jack didn’t also have one. “Last year, my roommate also had a big TV, it was a pain to balance them both, these rooms really only have a few outlets, isn’t that dumb?”

“Well, it looks like you boys are getting along.” Martha cuts in, seeing Jack flounder again for a response and knowing that when he didn’t have an answer prepared it was likely to be something less than favorable. “I’ll be heading out soon.”

“Oh! Nice to meet you too — sorry I couldn’t help you with your stuff. Have a safe trip back.” Kazama waves and Martha and Jack head back downstairs to the parking lot.

“He seems nice,” she comments.

“He seems annoying,” Jack mutters. “We’ll be trying out for the same position.”

“Looked him up already, did you?”

“Anyone would know, he was a true freshman last year. A freshman with promise.” Jack crosses his arms and stops in the doorway of the building. She steps outside and then turns to face him.

“Well, you’ll just have to do your best. Now, come on and give me a hug.”

“Martha.”

“Jack.”

He couldn’t quite look at her defiantly, over the years he’d gotten taller and taller and eventually looking at her defiantly, he felt, made him look childish. So he settles for scowling. Martha just smiles and waits expectantly.

He, always, loses to her. In a single step he’s close enough to hug and leans down to carefully wrap his arms around her. She hugs back, squeezes and says, “I know you’ll do just fine this year. I love you.”

“Same.” Jack mutters, tries to disengage faster than she allows. Then he disappears back up to his dorm room.

She, at least, doesn’t cry until she’s back in the car and then it’s only a few tears. It’s hard not to, though, when the car feels so much emptier.

* * *

Martha runs into Yuusei months after Jack goes to school. She’s only talked to Yuusei a few times before — when he scavenged the bikes for Crow, once when he came along to the kids’ appointments — and heard of him in passing from Zora.

It’s Tuesday, and her day off, and she’s browsing the library and sees him sitting at one of the big tables with books spread out around him. He looks miserable, really.

“You look like you could use a break,” Martha says. His head jerks up — he must have been so focused he hadn’t even noticed her walking up to the table.

“Ah — I haven’t made much progress, yet.” It’s different, than the last time they spoke. Someone’s given him a little confidence, or maybe it’s a little drive.

“Don’t work yourself too hard, a little play is an important part of doing well!” 

“Good advice,” he says.

“Thanks for looking after the kids,” she offers him a hand. He takes it — shakes, quickly, and then lets go, also quickly. “And for helping Zora out, she really appreciates it.”

“It’s not a problem.” He ducks his head then, a little echo of before. She thinks, she must have embarrassed him.

“I’ll leave you to your studying then, looks like you’re working on something important.”

The smile he gives her is odd. It makes her think of all the kids she’s fostered — hopeful, discontent, hesitant but pushing forward — a little fragile at the corners but determined.

“I think it is.” Yuusei affirms.


End file.
